Long-hidden Skies

Chapter Three

Betterment, My Arse

"Are you insane?" Hermione asked, appalled.

Colin gave her a sheepish smile, and then glanced down at his feet. "Um, Hermione... I don't think you quite understand who we are..."

"It doesn't matter who I think you are, Colin, although I clearly remember you both now." She gave him a stern look. "What matters is that it'll take us ten times as long using Muggle public transportation."

"But, Hermione, we can't--"

"What Creevey here is trying to say, Granger, is that we're not exactly conventional wizards anymore." Blaise held up his hands. "No wands."

Colin nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, exactly."

"So Apparating is out of the question," Blaise clarified. "Leaving us with the option of traveling by foot, which would be easy for us, but hard on you, or Muggle transportation." He gave her a wide smile.

Hermione eyed both men skeptically. "You just really want to ride a bus, don't you?"

"Well, there is that," Blaise said. "Might be fun to revel in civilization for a while."

"Right." Hermione grimaced slightly, recalling the time right before she'd had her memory erased. They had essentially lost the battle of Avignon, the Order retreating simultaneously with the Dark Lord's successful attack on Harry. The Animagi of the Order, already a close nit web of strength, had fled to the Forbidden Forest. "Why did you do it?" she asked, confused. "Why disappear?"

"Self preservation," Blaise said blandly at the same time that Colin piped, "For the betterment of the Order."

Blaise cuffed Colin with more affection than rancor. "Betterment, my arse. You and McGonagall are the only ones delusional enough to believe that." He turned to Hermione. "If needed, we work with the Order towards a common goal, but no matter what, it comes down to the survival of the Tribe."

"So," Hermione said slowly, "what you're saying is that if it came down to you or me, you'd throw me to the wolves?"

"Don't be so melodramatic, Granger," Blaise admonished. "It's rarely that cut and dry. Besides, the Tribe's sworn to keep you safe and we don't break our word lightly. McGonagall's extremely fond of both you and the Weasley girl."

"Ginny's all right, isn't she?"

"Well..." Blaise started.

Colin glanced at Blaise, and then gave Hermione a reassuring smile. "She's in a Death Eater prison. But not to worry," he continued hastily, "the Order has people on the inside."

"Snape?" Hermione asked wryly.

"Was, yes," Colin nodded. "But Malfoy, too. And Pansy."

She rolled her eyes. "My three favorite Slytherins. No offense, Zabini," she added.

"None taken. But, really, Weasley should be fine. Although the whole reason this... ah... rescue mission has been expedited is because, well..."

Hermione never remembered Blaise being particularly inarticulate, and she stared curiously at him. "What?"

"Snape apparently let it slip that Ginny could contact you," Colin finished for him.

"You're joking? Snape?" She hadn't liked the professor very much, but after all those years as a spy for the Order, she never would have expected him to make such a glaring mistake.

"Yes," Blaise replied, lips pressed in a grim line. "He's been a bit... tortured of late."

The three shared a significant glance. "Is he alright?" Hermione asked softly.

"Word is he should be okay," Blaise said. "They've got him at Order Headquarters at least."

Hermione nodded. "Well, then--" she was cut off by the series of short, highly annoying rings. "Hang on," she told Colin and Blaise, then reached over to the side table to grab her cell. Glancing at the lit up display, she groaned. "Oh no."

"What?" Blaise asked, giving the cell a suspicious glare.

"I completely forgot," she dropped the still ringing phone onto the couch and jumped to her feet.

Colin looked visibly relieved when the cell ceased making noise. "Forgot what?"

"I'm just going to have to call him back and tell him not to come..." she muttered to herself, pacing the floor in front of the coffee table. "It's just that... oh, Merlin, is that the time?" She glanced from her wall clock to her wristwatch and back again. "I can't possibly cancel on him now, he probably called on the way." She looked over at Blaise and Colin thoughtfully. "No hope for it. You two are just going to have to scare him off."

"Scare who off?"

"Stephen," she replied absently, tapping her forefinger to her lip. "Didn't want to go in the first place. He's a bit of a git, really." She eyed Blaise up and down. He looked far more dangerous in the Fish or Die sweatshirt than her dad ever did. "You're actually sufficiently intimidating by yourself, I think. Colin, you can help me pack." She grasped Colin's arm and pulled him out of his seat, heading for the stairs, already making a mental list of all she'd need to take with her.

"Wait!" Blaise called after them. "What am I supposed to say to this bloke?"

"Make something up," she shouted down from the top of the stairs.

Blaise slouched low on the sofa. "Bugger."

Crookshanks, who undoubtedly looked upon Blaise as some sort of savior, leapt up on the cushion next to him, rubbed his head into his palm, and gave a sympathetic meow.

******

Hermione swept her gaze around her bedroom, an ache lodged in her chest. It was not, particularly, from the thought of leaving her Muggle life behind, but from the idea of having lived there, clueless, for nearly a decade.

She'd gone to university, specifically studying antiquities and ancient history, although she'd done her Masters' thesis on the Renaissance Movement and dabbled quite a bit in creative writing. She'd nearly married that Joshua fellow from Glasgow six years ago - what a mistake that would have been. She'd endured years of therapy for stress related anxiety, coupled with unrelenting tension headaches presumably brought on by her parents untimely deaths - at least, according to her psychiatrist, who Hermione was rapidly coming to think of as a quack.

She knew now, of course, what the strain on her system had been - not only the Memory Charm, but also the memories themselves, good and terrible, praying on her subconscious. There were things that she'd rather not have to remember at all; but that was the price of war.

"Colin," she asked tentatively, keeping her eyes averted, "do you... have you heard anything about Harry?"

He put his arm around her waist, and Hermione couldn't help smiling. He'd always been unusually demonstrative for a Gryffindor. Must have been the terrier in him.

"Not much," he answered. "Dumbledore never mentions him in his owls." Although it was rare for anyone in the Tribe to send notes - particularly since John Parkinson had grown indignant about the servitude of post owls over the years, but also due to the fact that they were hardly ever in human form - they received quite a bit of Order news from Dumbledore.

She stepped away from him. "Do you miss it, ever? The Order, I mean?" she asked, opening her closet to search for sensible boots.

Colin was silent for a moment. "Yeah," he said quietly. "D-Dennis," he continued, stumbling over his younger brother's name, "he sends me a note on Christmas every year. I miss him."

She looked back at him. "Haven't you seen him at all?"

"The Council can be strict and I'm the youngest member." He gave her a strained smile. "This is the first time I've been out of the forest for years. They probably wouldn't have let me do this, you know, except that no one else really wanted to travel this far."

"So everyone else can leave the forest whenever they want, but you can't?" Hermione asked, incredulous. Colin had to be at least twenty-seven. It seemed a little odd that they'd be treating him like he was still a child.

"They're just a bit overprotective, really," he explained, shrugging slightly. "I don't mind all that much."

To Hermione's ears it sounded as if he did mind, but she decided not to push the issue. Instead, she placed her hands on her hips and stared into her closet. "I'm not going to need much, am I, Colin?" She pulled out a small suitcase and dropped it, open, on top of her bed. She filled it with a few essentials and a scant amount of clothing, anticipating that Dumbledore had kept her old possessions, including her wand.

She heard a scuffle and some shouting below and rushed to the stair landing, followed closely by Colin. He quickly morphed into his terrier form and bounded down the steps ahead of her, yapping and growling and heading straight for the front of the house.

Hermione arrived out of breath a few seconds later to see her date, Stephen, pinned to the wall by Blaise, with Colin tugging enthusiastically at his trouser leg. "What on earth...?"

"Tessa, thank God," Stephen croaked out, his eyes rounded with fear.

"Blaise, I asked you to scare him off, not kill him," she muttered, walking towards them. "And Colin, stop chewing his trousers."

Blaise reluctantly released Stephen's throat and stepped back, scowling at him. "He wouldn't leave," he said, sounding a bit like a petulant child.

"Tessa," Stephen started, jerking his sweater vest down and straightening his tie, "who is this heathen and why did he tell me you weren't at home? You clearly are."

Hermione rolled her eyes and sighed. "Well, I suppose I am here, although one could argue the fact that Tessa is not."

Stephen gazed at her blankly, and then gave her a shaky smile. "Yes, well, shall we go, then?"

"I'm afraid I can't make it, Stephen," she said, taking his arm and spinning him around back towards the front door. "I'm so sorry I didn't call you earlier, but I'm sure you understand, what with my long lost... brother-in-law showing up quite unexpectedly today."

"You mean that brute who nearly killed me?" Stephen asked, and then added, "I didn't know you had a sister."

She patted his arm. "Twin, actually, although she and Blaise were thought to be lost in the Amazonian rain forest several years ago. It's quite miraculous, and we're all thoroughly pleased to have him back."

Stephen's eyes were wide with confusion as she opened the door and attempted to shove him through. "We?"

"Ah, yes; the dog and cat and I. So, so pleased. Glad to see you again, Stephen," she called as she gave him a push down the front stoop.

He stumbled down the steps and caught himself just before falling on his face. "I'll call you then, shall I?"

"Afraid not, but thanks all the same. We're going on an expedition to find my sister, last seen just south of Machu Picchu. Won't be back for months and months. Bye!" She threw him a hasty wave, then slammed the door and fell against it. "Whew." She turned to Blaise. "You were absolutely no help at all with that."

Blaise shrugged. "I didn't like him; smelled like an old woman."

"Erm," Hermione blushed, "he lives with his mum."

He arched a brow. "Tell me you at least didn't shag him."

Hermione's mouth dropped open, more horrified than embarrassed. "That is... good Merlin, can you imagine him naked?"

"No, that's something I'd never, ever try to imagine," Blaise said dryly.

She laughed and shook her head, then glanced at her wristwatch; it was nearly eight. "I'm heading up early. You two can fight for the guest bedroom, but try to be civilized about it." She waved a hand towards the den behind them. "I'll put a pillow and some blankets on the couch."

Despite being emotionally exhausted, Hermione had trouble falling asleep, her demons creeping up on her as they often did in the cover of darkness. Only now they had taken on a clarity that the Memory Charm had previously prevented.

Pushing herself up in bed, she rested her back against the headboard with a weary sigh, followed closely by a barely contained dry sob. Quite suddenly, she felt like bawling. Like pulling the blankets over her head and wailing into her pillow, sobbing great gulping sobs that would leave her throat raw and her head pounding and her body hollow.

But she wouldn't, of course. Hermione never let herself cry anymore. She didn't see the point, really. Hadn't in years, not since her parents were killed and she'd been left on her own. There'd been no comfort for her in crying - it felt much too much like self-pity, and she'd vowed never to go that route.

Absently, she touched her bottom lip. Blaise had healed it; had placed his forefinger there, smiled almost a feral smile, and his eyes had glowed.

Her lip had knit itself together from the inside out.

She'd agreed voluntarily, all those years ago, to the Memory Charm. Granted, she hadn't expected it to last this long... or perhaps she had simply never expected it to not last. One thing had been for sure, though, she hadn't wanted to face what she had done, and so she'd chosen not to face it at all. The cowardly Gryffindor.

She saw the folly in that now - perhaps had known it before, as well - although she'd needed to hide for the protection of herself and Ginny, as well as the Order. But now it was ten years after the fact, and she had to come to grips with something that should have been dealt with years ago. She'd done what she had to in the war, she'd betrayed whom she was meant to betray; only it had been far less gratifying than she could have ever imagined. And it hurt. Hurt as if it had happened yesterday.

Midnight came and went and still she tossed and turned, her need for tears thankfully drying up inside her, bringing out her old resolve, but leaving her no less restless. Finally, she threw her covers off and slipped out of bed. She went to the loo, and then took the stairs quietly down to the kitchen, not wanting to wake whomever was passing the night in her living room. She'd suspected it would be Colin, and was surprised to find the dark Animagus form of Blaise, the large cat stretched out on the sofa, his side rising and falling evenly with his deep breaths.

She didn't bother with lights in the kitchen, the low hanging moon shedding enough light for her to make her way towards the cabinets and then the fridge. She poured herself a glass of milk and took a small sip, then moved to sink down into a wooden chair.

A hand tapped her shoulder and nearly caused her to drop her cup. She cursed under her breath, the milk having sloshed onto the front of her nightshirt. "Never sneak up on someone who's used to living alone, Zabini," she chastened, grabbing a few napkins and wiping at the damp cloth.

"Sorry," he said, his voice thick and rough from sleep. He yawned and rubbed his hand over his face. "Why are you up? Is everything alright?"

"Fine," she sighed. "Just couldn't sleep. Sorry I woke you."

"I'm a light sleeper," he explained, dropping into the seat across from her. "And I'm used to cat naps," he added with a wide grin.

Hermione shook her head. "How do you do it? I mean, Colin…" she trailed off, uncertain of what to say.

"Creevey's all right," Blaise said. "I try to watch out for him, though."

"He's always been a bit fragile," Hermione agreed. "Living as you do, I suspect it's been hard on him, being the youngest."

Blaise's eyes narrowed. "Has he said anything to you?"

"No," she shook her head. "But it seems as though he's trying to be something he's not meant to be, doesn't it?"

"He's part of the Tribe, Granger," he said, a warning note in his tone.

"I'm not saying that's not a good thing," she tried to explain. "It's just that I think he misses his friends and family. He was always so gregarious and social. Now he's got... well, you."

"He has the Tribe."

Hermione arched a brow and considered arguing the point. Obviously, Blaise was either blind to the Tribe's strictures on Colin or he was serving himself a large dish of denial. He didn't seem in the mood, though, for a lecture, and over the years she'd learned to temper her bossiness. "Do you miss your family?" she asked instead.

"My brother, yes, although I see him every so often," he said. "Not so much my parents." He gave her a rueful smile. "Still very much Death Eaters, I'm afraid."

"I'm sorry," Hermione murmured into her milk.

"Don't be. They were horrid parents, anyhow. McGonagall was the one who straightened me out; kept me in line. Don't know what happened with Malfoy, really. Always thought he had a pure evil core."

Hermione smiled. "Me, too."

"And Pansy," Blaise continued, "well, she must have gotten her courage from her mother. John just... well, he was just waiting in the forest for us when we re-grouped after Avignon."

Blaise fell silent and Hermione knew he was remembering the aftermath of the battle, the bloodshed and hopelessness that had nearly broken the Order. She gave a deep sigh, and said, "So... Hufflepuff?"

His lips curled up at the corners, and a thread of amusement laced his gruff warning. "Careful, Granger."

She smiled. "You could have done great things in Hufflepuff," she said in mock-seriousness.

"Shut it," he half-snarled.

"Wasn't your brother in Hufflepuff?" she needled.

Blaise growled, the sound blossoming from deep within his chest.

"He obviously embraced his Hufflepuff-ness to the fullest." She pressed a palm to her heart, straightening in her seat. "A proud and mighty badger."

His growl rumbled out of his throat, dissolving into a chuckle. "Merlin, I've missed you," he said, shaking his head.

Hermione's mouth dropped open. "You... what?"

"Missed you," he reiterated, talking slowly as if to a child. "It's generally something you do when someone you love goes away."

Hermione blinked. "Pardon?"

His grinned stretched wide, baring his teeth. "Why do you think I even joined the Order, Granger?"

"T-to help fight against the Dark Lord and..." she trailed off, her fingers tightly clutching the glass of milk. "To do what's right," she ended, almost emphatically.

He leant back in his chair, spreading his hands. "Do I look like someone who'd particularly care about what's right?"

"Yes," she replied, "because you certainly aren't the sort of person who'd change sides because of... of..." Her mouth toyed with the word love, then clamped shut on an irritated snort.

He cocked his head to the side, fascinated by the embarrassment and anger and hurt flashing in her eyes. "You're mad at me."

"I... I don't..." know how to deal with love, she thought dejectedly. She had loved someone once. And it had been a twisted, cruel love that'd left her hollow inside. "I don't need this right now."

He was quiet for a moment, staring intently at her. "You know, Granger, outside the Tribe, there are few people I give my loyalty to. We were friends once, weren't we?" Blaise asked lightly. "Partners for almost a year."

Yes, they had been, because he'd refused to work with anyone else.

He gave her a shadow of a wolfish smile. "I never said I was in love with you, Granger."

Something inside of her shifted and she felt sharp relief and inexplicable... disappointment? "I know," she said gruffly.

"I'm a bit rusty on my social skills." He yawned, stretching with a cat-like grace before getting to his feet.

Hermione stifled an involuntary gasp, a well-positioned beam of moonlight revealing that he was completely bare-arsed again. "Jesus, Blaise, do you have to go around naked?"

"Just trying to entice you, pet." He shrugged and yawned again, absently scratching his stomach. "Get some sleep, we need to be up bright and early in the morning." With that, he transfigured himself back into the panther, and rubbed his large head affectionately against Hermione's thigh before softly padding from the room.

******

Ginny stumbled to her knees as Malfoy released her. "I hate tandem Apparating," she muttered, gingerly rising to her feet.

"Yes, well, it doesn't exactly butter my toast, either," Draco groused, brushing off his robes.

They were standing near the edge of the ocean side town, their backs to the jagged cliffs that skirted the sea. It wasn't late, but the grounds were devoid of human life; wards or no, it wasn't safe for any of them to be wandering around after dark.

"I assume your floo is attached to Beauxbatons?" he continued.

"Anxious to be rid of me, Malfoy?" she asked, but when he simply stared at her with raised eyebrows she nodded. "Yes, I've got all the proper Order floo channels."

"Good. Now, which of these little hovels is yours?"

Ginny bit back a snarl - after all, he did just rescue her - and wordlessly started down the path towards her cottage, breathing in the familiar tangy salt air. She knew Malfoy would have to contact Dumbledore from her cottage, and felt some nervousness in facing the wizard herself. Although he would never openly berate her, her reckless behavior could hardly go uncommented.

She was sure Malfoy would frog-march her to Dumbledore in person if he'd been staying in town, so luck was a bit on her side that he had apparently returned to France. Hogwarts may have been rebuilt as a pureblood school, but Beauxbatons had remained staunchly open-armed to Britain's young magical folk of all backgrounds, protected by the combined strengths of Dumbledore and Madam Maxime.

"Slow down, Weasley," Malfoy said reproachfully. "You're going to trip over your own feet."

It was a mild comment, although Ginny knew there had to be an insult in there somewhere. And, of course, at that moment she actually did trip, and was saved a face plant by Malfoy catching her elbow and dragging her upright.

He gave her a smug smirk. "See?"

She jerked her arm out of his grasp. "I'm rapidly growing weary of your presence, Malfoy," she growled.

"Oh, and here I was planning on moving in," he mocked as they paused at the end of her small front porch. "How disappointing."

Throwing him a disgusted glance, she trudged up the steps and opened the door, not for the first time finding herself immensely grateful for the recognition charm she'd placed on the lock.

The house was dark as they stepped inside. Draco's wand tip flared as he lit several sconces surrounding the doorway, revealing a small, cozy front room that was dominated by an overstuffed maroon couch.

Ginny frowned at the empty room, bent over the coffee table, and hastily ripped open a small square note that had been placed in the middle of it, her name scrawled in nearly eligible print.

Draco watched her face drain of color, and then just as quickly burn a bright, dangerous red. "Bastard," she muttered. Then louder, "That bastard."

Draco cleared his throat and she glanced up at him, eyes glistening with fury and unshed tears. She shoved the note into his hands and stalked over to the fireplace, grabbing a handful of floo powder from the mantle.

Ginny dropped to her knees, tossed the powder into the hearth and shouted, "Seamus Finnigan," in an angry rasp. Lavender popped almost immediately into view, her head framed by the green flames and square-cut hearthstones.

"Ginny," she said, surprised. "You're back, oh, that's wonderful, that's fabulous, just wait 'til I tell Seamus, oh, thank Merlin!" She took a deep breath before continuing, "Is that Malfoy? Oh, thank Merlin, Malfoy. We were all so worried that you wouldn't be able to get her out in time, you know, and we haven't heard from Pansy or Ron yet and it's been just unbearable waiting for--"

"Hang on," Ginny cut in, momentarily sidetracked. "Do you mean to tell me you knew Malfoy was a spy? And what's this about Pansy?" She looked back and forth between Malfoy and Lavender.

Draco shrugged.

Lavender gave her a sheepish smile. "Well, Ginny dear, we didn't think it important for you to know all the specifics. You're not exactly an active member anymore, you know."

"Oh yes," Ginny cracked, "I just run all the rallies, but I've no business knowing the day-to-day Order business. That all makes wonderful sense to me."

"You're in protective custody, Gin," Lavender pointed out calmly.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "That's bullocks and you know it, but I'm not even going to bother discussing that right now. What I want is for you to get that dumb prat Michael Zabini," she demanded. "I know he's there, Lav, so don't bother trying to deny it."

"Erm, well, Gin... maybe you should rest some before talking to Mike," Lavender suggested.

"Get Michael," she said through clenched teeth.

Lavender sighed and sent her a little frown before disappearing from the fire. Minutes later, Michael's curly dark head appeared, his dimples flashing in a self-depreciating grin. "Ginny, love--"

"Don't you 'Ginny, love' me, Michael," Ginny bit out in a furious hiss. "What the hell do you think you're doing? I was in prison, Michael. Prison! Pining away and... look at me," she exclaimed, tugging at her ragged hems and yanking at her dirty matted hair. "You should've been worried about me."

"I was worried--"

"But what do you do?" she plunged on. "You leave me. You leave me a sodding note, you prick!"

"Ginny," Michael said gently, "be reasonable about this. It wasn't working, love, you know that. I thought it'd be easier this way."

"Easier for you," she muttered angrily. "I wasted years of my life on you Michael... Years." She shook her head. "And you don't even have enough respect for me, for what we had together, to tell it to my face. Well, fuck you."

"You don't mean that," he said, a hint of hurt in his blue eyes.

Perhaps if she'd been a bit more stable - after all, she was dipping down into the dangerous realm beyond exhaustion - she wouldn't have felt the loss so keenly. She knew it hadn't been working. She was too brash, too over-bearing... too much like her mother. Hell, she knew from the beginning that it wouldn't last, and was highly amazed that it had as long as it did.

But on top of everything else that happened, she just couldn't take it rationally. She gave him one last rude gesture, turned from the fireplace, and strode off down the hall to her bedroom. Collapsing onto the bed, she barely managed to slip between the sheets before falling into a deep sleep.

She had strange, fitful dreams about the rats, and startled herself awake soon after, a vague guilty feeling in the pit of her stomach. Percy had seemed particularly lost without her. Thinking it was absolutely crazy to be missing her feet nibbling cellmates, Ginny pulled the covers to her chin and pressed her eyes shut, willing herself back to sleep. It didn't work. She kept hearing their pathetic squeaks and somehow they seemed cute and endearing when they used to be horrid and disgusting.

She tossed and turned and finally decided that it was much too quiet in the cottage, and wondered briefly if Malfoy had stayed and contacted Dumbledore through her floo. She slipped out of bed and padded down the hall towards the small kitchen, almost laughing out loud when she found Malfoy stretched out on his back on her couch, one arm tucked under his head, his legs bent in what looked to be a highly uncomfortable position. Oh, how the mighty have fallen. Or in Malfoy's case, oh, how the horribly arrogant git has gotten his comeuppance.

She allowed herself to admit, though, that his presence reassured her a great deal. Ginny sighed, went back to her bedroom and, without another thought, gathered the comforter off the bed, stuffed a pillow under her arm, and crept back down the hallway to the front room. She wrapped her blanket around her and curled up on the floor against the side of the sofa, so close Malfoy could reach down and touch her without shifting. His soft, even breathing, the deep sighs of sleep, lulled Ginny back into dreams.

******

Ron didn't think the situation could get any worse. Well, he supposed it was possible, since he hadn't been spotted by any of the Death Eaters as of yet, but the tree he was currently residing in didn't like him, and he definitely did not like the tree. Not to mention, of course, the high likelihood of spiders crawling around the crevices in the rough bark, just waiting to pounce on his unsuspecting person. Ginny had better be damn thankful.

He'd been forced to go a bit more southeast than his original position and, at this point, he was beginning to think that Ginny either had escaped without him, or was still locked up in her cell. Either way, it meant hanging about until he received word from the Order.

He couldn't decide whether the bright moon was a boon or a curse. He was more likely to be seen by the enemy, true, but he was also more likely to spot any forest dwelling beasts before they could attack and eat him; a plus in any sane wizard's book.

Jumpy, Ron almost squealed like a girl when the brush below him growled. Good Merlin, it wasn't a graphorn, was it? He squinted down into the darkness, definitely seeing a squirming shape in a peculiar shade of purple. But, of course, it wasn't a graphorn. A graphorn, in comparison, he could have gotten rid of easily. Are those splotches of mud on her cheeks?

"Psssst. Ron!" she stage-whispered up to him, waving her arms frantically to catch his attention.

He shook his head and rubbed a hand over his eyes, which she obviously took as an invitation to join him in the tree. Before he knew it, a dirty-faced Pansy Parkinson was perched next to him on the branch, a Cheshire cat grin stretching her mouth wide, dried mud cracking and flaking off her rounded features.

"Er... Pansy? Why d'you have...?" He gestured lamely towards her face.

She waggled her brows, revealing even more paleness in the moonlight. "I'm incognito," she said. "I'm blending in."

Ron tried his very best to scowl, but broke down and gave her a reluctant grin instead. He'd never, in all his years at Hogwarts, suspected Pansy of having such an oddball sense of humor. She was completely barking mad. How had they missed that?

"You'd make a lousy Death Eater," Ron noted.

"I know," she chuckled. "Good thing they don't know that, though, eh?"

"I don't know how they could miss it, really," he said dryly.

She playfully slapped Ron on the arm. "Ronald Weasley, are you disdaining my acting abilities? I'll have you know I can scowl and grumble with the best of them."

"Or worst," Ron added, thinking of Crabbe. He knew, though, that Pansy was as skilled at Occlumency as Snape had been. Remarkable, really, considering.

Pansy smiled. "I've got good news," she said.

"Ginny's out?"

Her smile fell into a pout. "How'd you know?"

"What else could it have been, Pansy?" he asked, shaking his head. "So she got out clean?"

"Not entirely," she said, her tone serious. "Malfoy broke his cover."

"Of all the stupid..." Ron muttered. He sighed. "Snape's been ousted. Malfoy's gone now, too. Our whole spy operation now consists of you and your mother, Pansy." He looked over at her and reached out to flick a shaving of mud off the tip of her nose.

"Mother's beyond reproach," Pansy said proudly. "Besides, what with Granger returning, everything should be over soon, don't you think?"

Ron froze. "Hermione?" He swallowed hard. Good Merlin, Hermione was coming home?

Pansy placed a hand on his arm. "You didn't know?"

He shook his head mutely, his heart caught in his throat. And then an immense well of joy surged inside of him, something he hadn't felt so powerfully since before the war began.

Hermione was coming home.